“Devil’s coming to open the door.”
Lane looked at me as I heard the chain slide and the deadbolt thunk. When Devil pulled the door open, Lane’s eyes widened. Jealousy coursed through me when I saw Lane’s obvious appreciation for the large, muscular man. Apparently, he didn’t find mobsters so distasteful after all.
Devil stepped back so we could enter. Mittens struggled to be released, and Lane set her down once I’d closed the door behind us.
She ran right to Devil, pawing at his legs until he bent to scratch her ears. She purred as he gave her the attention she demanded.
“Awww,” Lane said. “She likes you. She’s very picky about who she lets pet her.”
And of course, the cat hadn’t let me touch her. I scowled at Devil. “Quit showing off.”
Devil looked at me, then at Lane, then back at me with raised brows.
“Later,” I said. “Lane, this is Devil Marchesi. Devil, this is Lane, my client.”
Devil held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Devil looked Lane up and down, clearly trying to piss me off. “That’s a great outfit by the way.”
Even when we were rushing to get out of the cabin, Lane had managed to make himself look incredible in bright blue skinny jeans and a hot pink and white striped sweater with a flamingo embroidered on it. Who knew he could make a flamingo look so fucking sexy? He’d even put on bright pink lipstick that was driving me fucking crazy.
“Thank you,” Lane said with a fucking blush on his cheeks.
“Do you want something to eat?” I asked Lane.
He shook his head. “We need to get the rest of my stuff from the car.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Devil said.
I tossed him my keys, and he caught them easily.
“Visitor parking?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“I’ll be back in a few. I’ll do a perimeter check while I’m down there.”
“Thank you.”
After he left, Lane slumped in a chair, and Mittens jumped up and curled on his lap.
His smile and flirtatious demeanor disappeared. I realized he’d been acting, trying to look like he had it together. Now he just looked tired and scared.
I laid a hand on his shoulder and ignored Mittens’s hiss. “We’re going to take care of this. Everything’s going to be okay. We’ll eliminate the threat Alan poses, and this will all be over. Even with him out there, you’re safe right now because you’re with me.”
“I know, I just…”
“I won’t let Alan get away with this. I won’t let him hurt you.” Mittens jumped down and went to sniff at the bag where Tara had packed her toys and food.
“Thank you.” Lane reached for me, and I took his hand and squeezed it as I knelt at his side.
“You don’t have to thank me. The whole reason I do what I do is to rid the world of men like Alan.”
“I know it’s your job, but—”
“This is more than a job because this is for you.” I cupped the back of his head, pulling him down so I could brush my lips over his.
I stood then and tugged Lane to his feet. “Are you sure you don’t want some dinner?”
“I’m not hungry.” That worried me even more than the defeated look on his face. He was usually the one reminding me it was time to eat. “I just want to go to bed.”
“All right. I need to talk to Devil before I join you.”
“Is he going to stay?”
“He will, or I’ll stay up to be on guard. Someone needs to stay alert.”
“All right.” Mittens ran toward the bedroom when Lane walked across the room.
“Lane?”
He turned.
“I will take care of you. I promise.”
Devil returned a few moments later, weighed down like a pack horse. “Jesus, I thought Lucien had overpacked for Peter when they went to the Caribbean last month.”
Lucien was Devil’s cousin and head of the family, and he treated his boyfriend Peter like a princess. “It’s not the same. Lane needed a lot of art supplies.”
Devil smirked as he turned to leave again. Why the fuck was I defending Lane’s ridiculous number of bags—many of which were filled with clothes—when I’d teased him about it.
Because you can laugh at him, but no one else can.
When Devil returned with a second load, I grabbed the easel from him and motioned for him to follow me to Lane’s studio.
I returned the easel to its proper place, and Devil set down the boxes of supplies Lane had packed. “You failed to mention your client is hot as fuck.”
Was he trying to start a fucking fight? “Has your husband told you what he learned today?”
“Wow. You’re really bitchy tonight, aren’t you?”
I scowled at him. “Have you forgotten how easily I could kill you?”
“Have you forgotten my family would make sure you suffered for weeks before they ended you?”
“I’d like to see them try.”